


Here is Gone

by slipsthrufingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Alternate Universe - Lost Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Desert Island Fic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vomiting, well more like a tropical island
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/pseuds/slipsthrufingers
Summary: This was supposed to be an easy job. Fly to Essos. Find the fugitive. Fly home. Deliver him to the Kingsguard and be on her merry way, five thousand dragons richer.But then the plane crashed. And Brienne is stuck on an island with twelve other survivors, injured herself, with little hope of rescue. And then the really strange things start happening.





	1. Crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luthien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/gifts), [nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/gifts).

> So welcome to my very loose Lost fusion fic. I don't know why I wrote it, or where the idea came from. Maybe it's because NCW and Josh Holloway could play brothers. Maybe it's because both shows had disappointing endings. Maybe it's because I just want to imagine all my favourites bedraggled on a tropical island.
> 
> I guess we'll never know.
> 
> Title from the Goo Goo Dolls song of the same name.

This was supposed to be an easy job. Fly to Essos. Find the fugitive. Fly home. Deliver him to the Kingsguard and be on her merry way, five thousand dragons richer.

The first part had been easy, though the KG had only splurged for an economy ticket, so it was an uncomfortable fifteen hours squishing her over-large frame into the seat. But Brienne was used to that. She could use her five thousand dragons to get herself a massage when she got home.

The second part, that too had gone well enough. Jaime Lannister might have been dangerous, once, but he had been on the run too long for him to pose her much of a threat. He was plainly exhausted and defeated. A declawed lion. He’d be no trouble for her.

No it was the return flight where it had all gone wrong. A smooth trip, same as it had been on the way there, until it wasn’t. Until they hit turbulence. The fasten seatbelt sign had gone on, but the plane had not stopped shaking. And then it had dropped, sudden and terrifying and she had gripped the closest thing to her on instinct. Lannister’s hand. The metal cuff around his wrist knocked against her watch, and she looked up, heart battering the inside of her chest like a gunshot. He was looking back; the same fear in her writ clear on his face.

The oxygen masks dropped from above. _Oh gods_. She grabbed her own, forced her shaking hands to draw the elastic behind her head, then she turned to help him with his. The way his cuffs were fastened, he couldn’t reach high enough to pull it down, but he was straining for it nonetheless.

She got the mask on him, the plane still descending, falling rapidly, eyes still drawn to his. Green. Pretty, like the rest of him. She was drawing in air frantically, but none of it was getting deep enough into her lungs. Her stomach was still at 43,000 feet. _She was going to die_. She was going to die and the last thing she would see would be his green eyes.

There was another violent jolt. Around her people screamed. The compartments above them burst open, raining heavy luggage down. One exploded as it hit the back of the chair, spilling clothes across the cabin. Another hard-shell carry on slid out as the plane banked hard. Lannister pulled her arm. Tried to get her out of the way, but it slammed into the side of her head. Smashed her into him.

Then darkness.

* * *

Brienne opened her eyes and regretted it instantly. The piercing, bright sun was right above her and the light cut straight through to the pulsing, nauseating headache that radiated through her neck and spine.

She rolled away, or tried to, but there was something to her left that stopped her. Then there was a hand. It held her down, gently but firmly.

“He told me you shouldn’t move,” a voice said. A girl’s voice. Young. Scared.

Brienne squinted, turned her head, tried to make her eyes focus. The girl was young, maybe thirteen. Red hair in a messy braid, dark with water. _What had happened?_

She lifted her hand to feel her face. Everything felt gritty, sticky. The ground shifted softly beneath her. Sand. A beach. They were on a beach. She was wet too. Had she been in the water? She didn’t remember going swimming.

Somewhere nearby, there was a noise. It was loud— if they were any closer it would be deafening. In the same direction as the noise, there was an explosion, a rush of heat. A scream.

The red-headed girl flinched at the explosion, and crouched over Brienne, shielding her pounding head with her too-slight frame. By instinct, Brienne lifted her hand to hold the girl in return. She was shaking. Such bravery in someone so young. Such strength.

“Help me up,” she said, once the girl had pulled back. There were tears on her face, and she looked even younger still.

“He told me not to let you move.” The girl’s voice trembled, but there was something steely behind the terror.

“I’ll be ok. Help me up.”

She kept her voice as calm as possible. Even and cool and competent, though she felt like a wisp of smoke. One good gust of wind would blow her right away. At least then her head would stop pounding.

The girl hesitated, but soon placed her hand on Brienne’s shoulder and helped her rise. The nausea bubbled up again, and even though she moved slowly, her head began to spin and roil in time with the pain pulsing in her skull. She gripped the girl’s hand and closed her eyes, swallowing down the vomit. Taking a deep breath in. Out. Then when she felt she could, she opened her eyes again and with the girl’s help, she stood.

“What’s your name?” she asked, keeping one hand on her shoulder to balance.

"Sansa," she said, then her lower lip wobbled. "I was travelling with my sister, but I can't find her, and that man, he grabbed me and told me to stay with you, and…"

"That man?" Brienne frowned, and looked around. There was no man. Just the two of them. They were standing on a white sandy beach. It stretched on endlessly into the distance, but just ahead, perhaps fifty metres or so, was the plane. No. Half of the plane. A pillar of black smoke rose from the wreckage. 

It had fallen. The luggage.

"He d-didn't tell me his name, but…"

Brienne returned her gaze to Sansa.

"He had handcuffs on."

* * *

They limped together towards the wreckage, Brienne leaning on Sansa’s shoulder. The noise grew louder with each step, a buzzing angry grind of metal on metal. A dismembered engine still whirring on the ground. Part of the fuselage lay across the beach, a wing dipping into the impossibly turquoise water. 

The closer they got, the more horrific the damage. Plane seats with dead bodies still strapped tightly in. People grievously injured, bloody and broken and lost. A little ways away a man was trapped beneath part of the wreckage. A few other passengers were trying to pull him out, lift the wreckage off, but Brienne she could already tell he was a lost cause.

Nearby, a woman screamed. No words, just screams.

Some brittle part of Brienne, the little girl inside her, wished she had stayed further back the beach where she had awoken with Sansa. It was safe there, almost peaceful. And surely it was not good for the girl to see this. What if her sister was one of the people strapped to the chair in death? “You should go back, Sansa. It’s not safe,” she said, and lifted her arm from around the girl’s shoulder, trying her best to stand up on her own. The sand beneath her feet shifted a bit, and she was still dizzy, but she felt a little better. She shouldn’t need help anymore.

But the girl was made of sterner stuff than that. Sansa gritted her jaw, and though she was pale, she looked determined. “No, I’m staying with you. He told me to stay with you.”

_Him_, again.

“Where is he?” 

She surveyed the wreckage, looking for his familiar figure, but between the smoke, which made everything hazy, and her eyes, which were having trouble focusing on anything for too long, it was difficult. She wanted to sleep.

But Sansa didn’t have that problem. She held a hand to her face, shielding her eyes from the sun, then she pointed. “Over there.”

Lannister was in the same clothes he’d worn on the plane, a tattered flannel and jeans. They were the clothes he'd been wearing when she caught him. He was dragging an old woman further up the beach, arms hooked underneath her armpits. There seemed to be a little makeshift triage there—other passengers were gathering at the top of the beach, away from the worst of the debris, and away from the petrol fumes she could smell, thick in the air. The more able-bodied passengers were tending to the injured. 

Beside her, Sansa let out a strangled noise, and for a moment Brienne feared the girl was hurt, and had hidden it from them all, but then she yelled, “Arya!” and ran from Brienne’s side, towards the gathered passengers.

“Sansa,” a little girl cried in reply, scrambling over the sandy foothill as fast as she could.

The sisters met in the middle in a tight, emotional embrace. Sansa lifted Arya in her enthusiasm; her legs flailed like an ecstatic windmill raised into the air.

Meanwhile, Brienne continued walking cautiously towards the rest of the gathered survivors. Lannister stood taller than the rest, and watched her, unblinking, as she reached the base of the little sandy hill. His expression was guarded.

The noise of the engine still drowned out most everything else, but that too had begun to ease, as the spinning motor finally began to lose momentum. It had the queer effect of making it feel like time itself were slowing down.

She looked down at his hands. The cuffs were still on, linking his wrists together with a fairly generous chain. The metal rope that had tethered him to the plane seat was gone though—it must have snapped in the crash, or else he would still be tied to the chair. His wrists bore bruises where the cuffs had rubbed; his right was bleeding. But despite the cuffs he had saved her. He had saved others. Children. An old woman. A tubby man with one arm wrapped protectively around a pregnant woman. Between her and Lannister, they were likely the two most able bodied of the passengers, and she was in no state to be of much use at the moment, concussed as she was.

Slowly, carefully, she reached into her jacket pocket to retrieve the keys to his cuffs. But her hand dug too far, and poked through a shredded hole in her pocket.

The keys were gone.

* * *

There were thirteen survivors in total, and more bodies than she really knew what to do with. Lannister and herself, of course, and the two sisters, Sansa and Arya, travelling to visit their half-brother in Winterfell. A boy, Podrick, fresh out of high school, who was returning home from volunteering for the summer at Habitat for Humanity, just in time to start university. Brienne was quietly worried about him—he had barely said a word to anyone since they’d retreated up the beach, away from the worst of the wreckage.

Then there was Sam and his new wife, Gilly, who was at least eight months pregnant, and who was, luckily, the healthiest of them all. She’d escaped the crash without a scratch.

Not everyone else had been so fortunate. Brienne had her concussion, and a pretty severe contusion on her scalp where the case had hit her so hard it had literally ripped the skin apart. The egg underneath would be there for days. Weeks, maybe. The sisters and Sam were covered in bruises and cuts, and Sam had swallowed a lot of sea water before being able to make it to shore.

But the others… The old lady that Jaime had been dragging up the sandbank was alive, but still unconscious. Her two grandchildren, Margaery and Loras, were frantic with worry for her, and both had sustained what to Brienne looked like a set of broken ribs. 

Then there were the men. All three were old, and from what Brienne could tell had been on some kind of… golf holiday. She hadn’t had much of a chance to speak with them, and if hadn’t been for the fact that they were all marooned together on an island in the middle of the Narrow Sea, then she would never have initiated a conversation with them. And she hunted criminals for a living. There was something about their eyes. Hollow. Cold. Everyone else was clearly traumatised by the crash, in their own various ways, and to varying degrees. But those three…

Lannister was the most able-bodied of them all, even including the cuffs, and he had been surprisingly practical. But then, he had spent the past year or so running from the law, so the fact that he could build a makeshift shelter and start a fire for the group was perhaps not so unpredictable. He had surely had to learn a few survival skills while living as a fugitive.

The sun had set quickly, leaving them in darkness before they’d really realised that they’d crashed. Brienne had tried to stand, once her aching brain finally grasped the gravity of the situation: that they were alone, in darkness, with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a smouldering wreck beside them, but Lannister had placed a firm hand on her shoulder and had held her down. Her heart hammered in her chest, but he released her as quickly as he’d grabbed her.

“Rest,” he said, quiet enough that only she heard. “I’ve got this. I’ve got them.”

He pressed a water bottle into her hands. But the disorientation she felt then had nothing to do with her concussion.

* * *

They prepared for the night, huddled together around the fire Lannister had built. He had braved the fuselage to retrieve all the bags and blankets he could carry. Arya, who was older than Brienne had first thought, followed behind him like a puppy, not to be deterred by his demands she stay where it was safe, and grabbed a handful of foil-wrapped meals which they'd reheated on the fire.

Sansa and Margaery had unpacked the bags in the hope of finding extra clothes they could wear to protect them from the elements. Arya had also scrimmaged up the first-aid kit while she'd been in the galley, which Sam then put to good use. He was a doctor, well no, an_ intern_ at Kingslanding General, but he turned out to be quite useful once he'd purged the worst of the briny water from his stomach. He had checked over their worst injuries and stablised them where he could.

As she suspected, she did have a concussion, as did Olenna, Margaery and Loras' grandmother. They had been able to rouse her and had kept her awake enough to swallow a few panadol tablets they'd found in a toiletries bag. Brienne, too, had been made to take a few, though she hadn't wanted to; the nausea that had set in had her feeling like everything she'd ever eaten was going to come up, like Sam and his sea water, but Sansa had insisted. The nausea also kept her from eating the shepherd’s pie Arya had wafted under her nose.

"I can't," she'd said, hating the pathetic note in her voice. She swallowed the rising sick and closed her eyes against the spinning world. "I'll try in the morning."

But the water Lannister gave her helped some. She took little sips and did her best to keep her eyes open—you weren’t supposed to sleep with a concussion—but she was exhausted, and wrung out, and it was a battle she couldn’t fight much longer.

“Brienne?” Sansa asked, stepping into her line of vision. The girl held out a hoodie. Brienne blinked at it, then up at the girl. “It’s getting cold. I found this for you.”

She was in different clothes herself, a sweater for a university in Essos she was far too young to attend, but she looked eager to be helpful. Brienne didn’t really feel cold, but she’d grown up by the sea and knew how biting sea-breezes could be. She took the hoodie and pulled it carefully over her head, which felt twice the size it usually was. Then there were hands, gently guiding the fabric around the laceration and sizeable egg on her scalp, helping her slip her arms through the sleeves without any further damage. She hadn’t been helped that way since she was a child, and it made her feel all the more miserable until she saw the earnest expression on Sansa’s face. She just wanted to be helpful. There was nothing more to it than that.

She was surprised again when Sansa sat down in the sand beside her, drew her legs tightly into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Effectively curled into a ball. It was cool, but it wasn’t cold, and the girl was shivering, eyes wide with paranoia.

Brienne frowned. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly and reached for her water bottle.

Sansa poked her nose out from behind her knees. Then her eyes darted towards the three old men— Petyr something, and the others. Brienne hadn’t caught their names yet. Or she had, but she’d forgotten in her distraction.

“Can Arya and I sleep by you tonight?” Sansa asked quietly.

“Of course,” she said, then frowned when the full implication of the question began to unfurl in her addled brain. Had something happened?

“Jaime said we could stay with him, but he said he’s going to stay awake and keep watch tonight, in case anything happens.”

_Jaime_?

The confusion must have shown on her face, because Sansa frowned and pursed her lips in concern. But then everything slowly clicked over in her head. _Jaime Lannister_. 

_“My _name_ is _Jaime_,” he hissed, and struggled against her hold on him. But he was weak from weeks of hiding, and she was strong, stronger than she looked. She had him now._

_“Does ‘Kingslayer’ bother you?” she said, barking out a mocking laugh. She held him in place, thighs pinning his arms against his sides, and retrieved her cuffs from her back pocket._

_He grunted something unintelligible and obviously rude into the grass beneath his face. She made the cuffs extra tight in retaliation…_

“You know? The_ prisoner_?” Sansa whispered, eyes darting towards his shadowy form just outside the camp. The moonlight caught the white in his flannel shirt. 

She nodded, then regretted it, pressed a hand to her temple to banish the newly aroused throbbing. “Yeah… yes.”

“What did he _do_?” Sansa’s eyes were alight with tawdry curiosity. It seemed it didn’t matter what situation you put a teenaged girl in: if there was gossip to be had, she would be in on it.

For a moment Brienne debated whether she should tell the girl or not. But she was tired, and she had no idea how long they would be stuck here for, and she just did not have the energy to lie, or to make up some palatable story to protect the girl’s feelings.

“He’s a murderer.”

But the revelation didn’t have the effect she’d anticipated. Instead of going pale, or looking shocked or scared, Sansa, if anything, looked resolute. Contented. She looked… safe.

“Good,” she said, and shuffled a little closer to Brienne. “I knew we could trust him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks, no I have not abandoned _She's Beauty, She's Grace_. This fic just took my brain by the ears and distracted me to the tune of 11k words in like, four days. I'll get back to the other fic very soon. Thank you very much to Luthien, Nire and Samirant for beta help and audiencing.
> 
> Please come stalk me on my [tumblr](http://slipsthrufingers.tumblr.com) and yell at me if you want.


	2. Landing

When she woke, with the rising sun, she felt immensely better. Her head was still a little foggy, but there was no pain, and when she sat up she felt her stomach cramp with hunger, not nausea.

The two girls were curled up at her back, clinging to each other like limpets, still fast asleep. They didn’t stir when she stood and dusted the sand off her pants, nor did she have any plans to wake them. Better to let them sleep. They’d been through a trauma; they needed the rest. And if rescue didn’t come soon… well, better to sleep while they could.

She surveyed the makeshift campsite, and the other survivors, properly for the first time. The camp wasn’t badly set-up at all, considering the conditions of the day before. The fire was still burning, though it was now down to smouldering embers, and the spot Lannister had picked was sheltered naturally from some of the elements by a line of trees nearby.

The rest of the passengers were, like the girls, still all out cold. Sam and Gilly were curled up together. The siblings were sleeping on either side of their grandmother, a blanket stretching over them all. Closer to the tree line were Petyr and the other two men, spaced comfortably apart and Podrick, the poor boy, was curled up in a tight ball furthest away from the fire. Her memory of the previous night was still foggy, but Brienne was pretty sure that was where he’d been where she last saw him. 

Furthest away again, at the edge of the sandbank, wrapped in one of the blue airline blankets was Lannister. He sat so still, staring out across the wreckage, which was still smoking in places, and out at the vast open expanse of ocean ahead of them. He could’ve been asleep, but as she moved closer, she saw that his eyes were open and clear, though he did look quite tired.

Brienne approached him, careful of the shifting sand beneath her feet. It wouldn’t do to cause a little sand avalanche on top of everything else. At the sound of her dress shoes squeaking softly in the sand, he tensed and turned his head, but he relaxed almost instantly upon seeing it was her.

She took it as permission to sit beside him. He didn’t protest.

For a little while, they sat in companionable silence, watching the sun rise across the water, feeling the cool sea breeze on their skin. If she looked in the precise right direction, and held her head high, she didn’t even have to look at the wreckage in her periphery. Just beautiful, jewel-bright ocean and clear blue skies.

It was peaceful.

But the peace couldn’t hold for long. The others would wake up soon enough, and there were things she had to say.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, voice soft and low and unaffected. Her memory of the crash was hazy, and perhaps it was better that way, but he had undoubtedly pulled her from the water, and found Sansa to care for her while he had helped the others. Why would he do that for his jailor?

But he didn’t answer straight away. The question hung between them, heavy and oppressive like the smell in the air of burning jet fuel. Instead he continued to stare out at the horizon, still looking every inch the magazine-perfect model he’d been in his mugshot. His stubble was growing out, gold peppered with silver, and his hair curled around his head like a halo. He looked positively angelic, but then perhaps he was. He had saved her. Did that make him her guardian angel?

After an age, he turned towards her, and his tired eyes scanned her face, lingering on the cut on her hairline. She was sure she was terribly bruised, not that she had a mirror to check. He ignored her question, and asked instead, “How’s your head?”

Then, without asking, he took her face gently between his still-cuffed hands. One held her chin steady, the other brushed the skin above her eyebrow, feather-light and tender as his thumb swept higher across her skin. He did not press, but the skin warmed and when he inevitably caressed the bruise, she flinched. He winced sympathetically and muttered, “sorry.”

“Sore,” she said honestly. “But it’s just the bruise. I can think properly now. I'm not dizzy or nauseous anymore.”

He tugged her head down, so he could inspect the wound more closely. She closed her eyes and let him do it.

“I think you need stitches.”

She let out a chuckle. It felt absurd to be able to laugh, here in this situation, with him of all people, but it was funny. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just pop down to the hospital. Get them to fix it up.”

Jaime smiled in return, and released her head. His handcuffs chimed with the movement. “Maybe Sam can do something for you. I’ll get everything out of the fuselage today, and we can do a bit of a stocktake on our supplies.”

She frowned. It pulled at the bruise and so she deliberately relaxed her features. “Have you slept at all?”

He shook his head. “Too rattled. But I’ve gone without sleep for longer than this. I’ll be okay until tonight.”

Of course he was more suited to this sort of thing, or as suited as anyone could be. Then again, as colourful his life might have been up ‘til this point, she doubted this was his _second_ plane crash.

Waves crashed along the shore, and above their heads seagulls and other scavenger birds circled the crash, already lurking, ready for a feast now the wreck was no longer burning so brightly.

It was on the tip of her tongue, to ask again. Ask why he had saved her. But there was something about the expression on his face that made her pause. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was she saw there, but she decided, in that moment, that she would leave it alone. If he wanted to tell her, he could tell her in his own time. If he didn’t, then it wasn’t her place to demand answers.

Instead, she reached a hand out to grasp his, and said, simply, “Thank you.”

Jaime looked down at their joined hands. Hers messy with sand, and his still restrained by cuffs. Both were rough with the calluses of hard work, and there was a lot of that in their future too.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, and drew his hand back.

The comfortable silence returned, and she took the time now to properly consider the crash site. It seemed like only half the plane hand landed here on the beach-- the nose and one of the wings. 

Where the other had gone, she couldn’t tell. The nose was fully submerged in the water, all the way through the first-class section of the cabin; if the pilots had survived the initial crash, locked inside there, they would have surely drowned by now. The engine on the beach had stopped rotating and stood like a monolith to the side. The force of the crash had ripped it from the wing which still floated in the water.. 

Scattered about the beach were rows of chairs, metal panels from the plane, suitcases, and other miscellaneous debris. What row had they been seated in again? She tried to recall their tickets, but her memory was still a little foggy. An aisle and a middle seat, one of the teens. Or maybe there had just been a ‘1’ there. She started counting the windows she could see on the remains of fuselage.

“We need to keep those girls close,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder. Sansa and Arya were where she’d left them, curled together. Covered in soot and blood and evidence of trauma, but still truly innocent in the morning light.

“They’re young,” she agreed, some feeling tightly gripping her throat, making her want to swallow excess saliva.

Jaime quirked his eyebrows in the direction of the three golfing buddies. “_They_’re trouble.”

“What did you see? Did they do something?"

“Nothing that I know of, but…” he trailed off, gritting his teeth, gathering the blanket back around his shoulders.

She waited, uneasy. It felt like last night’s nausea, but more dangerous somehow. More delicate.

“They remind me of… bad people. The girls caught onto it straight away, thank the gods. Their parents raised them well.”

Many people would consider _him_ 'bad people', but she knew what she meant. They had a vibe she didn't like and she was glad he'd picked up on it too.

“The girls seem to trust you.” It felt cowardly to point out, but she wanted to be honest. It seemed he had been with her, so far. Or if not honest, reliable. She owed him the same honesty. "I told Sansa what you did.”

But it didn’t seem to worry him. He shrugged and raised the handcuffs. “They would have asked me soon enough.”

Brienne nodded, careful and slow, then she remembered something. She lifted the hem of the hoodie Sansa had given her the previous night, and showed him the hole in the jacket she still wore underneath. Her fingers poked through the tear in the fabric. “I don’t know where the keys went.”

She worried that he’d be angry, or frustrated, but again he surprised her by looking… bashful. “I already checked you for them. You were unconscious when I pulled you from the water and I searched your pockets then. It would’ve made everything easier, but I made do.”

“Oh.”

“It was chaos out there at first. But it’s better to have you here than your keys, I think. I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

She almost pointed out that he would hardly be alone with eleven other people here alongside him, but that wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. 

“What about the others?” she asked. She hadn’t wanted his opinion before the flight, on anything, but now she did, desperately, but she could not have possibly said why, but that he was a familiar face. And that… wasn't truly why.

“They all seem fine enough. Some might even be useful. It’s just _them_.”

From behind, they heard movement. Brienne looked back to see Loras was gingerly sitting up, holding his ribs while trying not to disturb his family. They would have to talk about this later. At that moment her stomach began to growl, loudly and violently and lingering. Jaime smirked.

She pushed herself back up, and dusted the sand off her hands and backside before she offered him her hand. He took it and stood, keeping the blanket held around his shoulders, eye level with her once more. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, the unspoken truce heavy between them.

“Okay,” she said, finally. “I’ll get us breakfast, then I’ll help you to clear out the fuselage. And we’ll both keep an eye out.”

Brienne turned back to the camp, where the others had begun to stir as well, not needing to check to know that he was following close behind.

* * *

There were blueberry muffins for breakfast, and even coffee. Loras had set up a makeshift pot out of some warped metal from the plane, and had used it to boil water. It was shockingly civilised. “I’m a chef, in the real world,” he said, as he handed her a cup. “If we can figure out what’s good to eat here, I should be able to keep us happily fed until rescue arrives.”

Brienne brought Jaime his portion, which he practically inhaled, before announcing that he was going for a swim to wash off the grime of the previous day. She watched him go for a few moments, before returning to the camp ground with his empty cup.

The others were awake now too, though Podrick and the girls were still fast asleep. Loras was with his grandmother, who was now awake, with what looked like a shocker of a headache. He was helping her to sit up against a palm tree and eat some fruit.

As she watched the others, Brienne couldn’t help but feel a bit as though she were a step behind where she wanted to be. Thanks to the concussion and the patchy memory it had brought with it, she had not had the chance to truly get to know her fellow survivors, other than their names, but it felt awkward to speak out now. She felt like the new kid, starting school a few weeks into the term, on the back foot before she’d even begun.

But she needn’t have worried. Once she returned to camp after bringing Jaime his food, the others did the hard work for her.

“It’s Brienne, isn’t it?” The young woman named Margaery, asked from beside the fire, in the kind of melodious voice that only belonged to kindergarten teachers and hypnotists. She was not alone. Sam and Gilly were there too, both pale but as well as could be expected, given everything.

“I’m Margaery. It’s lovely to finally meet you properly.”

She’d reached out her hand to shake, which Brienne took, feeling exceedingly awkward. This woman’s incongruous insistence on proper manners enhanced the strange feeling that she was back at school, being reminded by her horrible year three Septa for the fiftieth time that year that _good girls did not slump!_

“I hope you’re feeling better today. That bump on your head looks _awful_.” Her eyes darted to Brienne’s hairline, then back down to her eyes. Her entire body reflected sympathy, so much so that Brienne was inclined to think it was all a ruse and that she had some other kind of underhanded motivation. People did not feel that kind of intense sympathy for strangers, not in her experience. Especially not in a situation like this, where they were all equally traumatised.

“Much better.” She nodded stiffly. “The rest did me a lot of good.”

“That is _excellent_ to hear. Truly excellent.” Margaery smiled warmly. “Loras and I were quite worried for you last night.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that, so she just said, “Oh?”

Margaery shifted over, pointedly making room for Brienne to sit down beside her around the fire. Brienne could see no way to avoid it, so she sat, and drew her legs up to her chest. Margaery continued to talk. “So was that man, wasn’t he?” She turned to Sam, seeking his agreement.

“Who… Lannister?” Brienne frowned, then regretted it. The pain above her brow was still quite acute.

“Oh yes! Jaime!” He nodded vigorously, as though surprised that he knew the answer to Margaery’s question. “He wouldn’t let me look you over, at first. I don’t know if you remember that bit. You were quite out of it.”

She didn’t. It was a little disconcerting.

It must have shown on her face, because Sam held reached out a hand. “Oh that’s normal, with a concussion. Memory loss, that is. That being said, it’s normal for any kind of severe trauma. The brain just, you know, shuts down if it feels like there is too much to process, and a plane crash like this definitely counts as _traumatic_.”

“Sam,” Gilly said, in a tone that was warm, yet warning. “Leave off. We all know that.”

He shrugged affably and returned his attention to his muffin.

“How is your grandmother?” Brienne asked, nodding to the tree where she and Loras were still sitting. He was passing her little bite sized bits of banana, which she slowly ate.

“Very battered, but I have faith that she’ll overcome it. She’s outlived three husbands so far. She says a plane crash couldn’t be worse than husband number one.” Margaery said the last part with a fond smile. Clearly she and her brother were very close with their grandmother. Brienne’s grandparents had all died before she was born, but it still warmed her some to see such a tight-knit family. “Give her a day, maybe two, and she will have everybody wrapped around her dainty little finger, don’t you worry about that.”

Brienne smiled back--thankfully it hurt less than frowning did. She addressed her next question to everyone around the fire. “Were you all on holiday in Braavos?”

The plane had taken off from there, and while it was a tourist spot in and of itself, it was also the main transport hub for people wishing to explore the rest of the continent. Many cruises left Braavos and travelled south, stopping at each of the free cities along the way before looping back north. And while it was possible to get a direct flight from King’s Landing to Mereen, it was expensive and a very long journey. Most people had a stopover in Braavos first.

Margaery answered first. “One of our cousins just got married. A destination wedding, you know. Loras and I volunteered to travel with Grandmother. She first visited Braavos when she was my age, and had a grand time revisiting her old haunts. Loras and I have both been to Pentos before, but we’d never travelled so far north. I absolutely want to head back there one day!”

The woman truly did have a very hypnotic way of speaking. Brienne already felt herself being drawn in by her serene manner and the mesmerising way she built her personal narrative. If she didn’t work in PR or marketing, she was wasting her talents.

“Sam and I were on our honeymoon,” Gilly added. 

Margaery’s smile turned saucy, as she pointed at Gilly’s round tummy. “Shotgun wedding?”

Brienne thought it was a bit of a rude question, but Sam and Gilly laughed it off with a knowing, shared glance between them. This wasn’t the first time someone had made that joke.

“Oh no, just belated,” Sam said, genially. “I couldn’t get time off from the hospital until just now, but it gave us time to save up for a better package. We didn’t want for anything, did we Gilly?”

Gilly nodded, and smoothed her shirt down across her belly in a soothing gesture. “We spent a few days in Braavos to see the sights, but most of the time we were on a cruise ship. I wanted to make sure we still had access to medical facilities, doctors and such, you know, other than him.” She jutted her head in her husband’s direction, but while her words were clearly meant to be lighthearted and joking, it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Brienne didn’t blame her. If she was in Gilly’s position, heavily pregnant and stranded on an unknown island, she would be far more anxious than she already was, and she was plenty anxious now. She might be responsible for getting Lannister back to King’s Landing safely, but once the news broke about the plane crash, she doubted they would hold the delay against her, if they ever did manage to get rescued. But he was a grown man who could look after himself-- and apparently could look after her, too. 

To be responsible for a _baby_ in this situation. Well…

She didn’t know what to say to comfort Gilly, but thankfully Margaery was there already, grasping the other woman’s hands tightly between her own. Together they looked like the Mother and the Maiden. “Oh you mustn’t stress! You have your husband, and Grandmother has experience with deliveries--she used to be a midwife before she married for the first time. And I’m sure that right at this very moment the authorities are sending out a search party for the plane! We’ll be rescued before your little one even has a chance to poke their head out.”

Brienne nodded along. “And Jaime and I are going to search the fuselage today. Hopefully there will be a transceiver there that we can use to call for help. Planes like this usually have something along those lines.”

“See? This might not be an ideal situation, but we are all going to do our best to keep you and your family safe, I promise!”

Sam had shuffled closer to his wife, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her in tightly against his side. Gilly leaned in to his chest and closed her eyes, taking the offered comfort. It looked to Brienne as though it helped, some. A small part of her couldn’t help but feel a little envious. She was scared too, but she was not the type of woman who looked like she needed comfort; her height and broad shoulders made her seem indomitable to others. Immune to fear. But she did her best to brush the envy aside. It was not a useful feeling, right now, and thinking about it would not fix her situation. It was better to be useful.

“I think I’ll get started clearing out what we can,” Brienne said and stood, dusting the sand from her trousers once more. “The sooner we start, the sooner we might find that transceiver!” 

The others nodded along, making promises that they too would find ways to be useful throughout the rest of the day. It warmed something inside her, that as solitary as she might feel, she was not entirely alone. They would get through this together.

* * *

Brienne spent the morning alongside Jaime pulling every single item they could out of the fuselage. 

One of the golf buddies, Meryn had taken a deep lungful of smoke the previous day, but the night of sleep had done him well, as it had Brienne, and they conscripted him to help in the task. He was a relatively fit middle-aged man with, Brienne suspected, a military background--he had the bearing, and misogyny, for it. He ignored her instructions as though he hadn’t heard her speak, but when Jaime sent a jocular smile his way, and told him to transport the bags from the beach to the treeline, he did it.

From there, Sansa, and Margaery sorted the clothing and fabric while Loras and Gilly handled the food. Podrick was still a little insensate at times, but seemed happy enough to sit by Olenna, who had gone back to sleep after breakfast, as well as to keep an eye out on the horizon for any signs of rescue. 

That left Sam, Petyr and Walder to sort out some kind of shelter for the rest of them. They spent most of the afternoon dragging bits of scrap metal from the beach to the trees. In the real world, Walder had spent most of his life in the bridge-building industry, literally, having been involved in the building of the Twins across the Red and Blue Forks in the Riverlands. He had little patience for the ineptitude of his helpers, annoyed that they were not the trained professionals he was used to bossing around. 

Arya, Brienne tried to encourage to stay with her sister, who seemed quite taken by Margaery in the way that young teens often looked up to slightly older women. Brienne thought it best that they keep the children away from the wreckage, but Arya was having none of it. She wanted to be where the action was, and she soon proved useful when clearing out the fuselage. She was small and lithe enough to crawl inside the under-cabin to pull out the bags and supplies that Brienne and Jaime were too bulky to retrieve. But Brienne refused to let her into the main cabin where the bodies were, no matter how many times she protested that “All men die!”. That was a job for her and Jaime alone. The thought that, perhaps, they would return these girls home safely to their parents… Well she could not stand the thought of the girl seeing this much death.

But it was still better the girl was near her and Jaime than near any of the golfers. Individually they all seemed average enough, if a little crotchety or particular in Walder’s case, but the more time Brienne spent around Meryn the less she liked him, and she hadn’t liked him much to begin with. She was especially glad that they’d been able to divide and conquer and keep all three of them away from the girls. Perhaps it wasn’t fair on Sam to leave him with Petyr and Walder, but he seemed the tragically optimistic type; never bothered by anyone or anything for long.

No, it was together that they seemed hostile, and that was what it was. Hostility. When they broke for lunch they gathered together. There was nothing overtly creepy about their actions; they sat together and picked at their food with their fingers, but that malevolent vibe remained. It was there in Meryn’s misogyny, in Petyr’s unblinking gaze, in Walder’s sneer.

Brienne did her best to treat them as normally as she could, though she had never been particularly good at hiding her true feelings. Her face betrayed her too easily for that. It was best for her to avoid them and stick to making sure the girls stayed a healthy distance away.

But Jaime, now he was another story. He used his dazzling smile and easy way with others to charm them, to charm all of the other survivors, really, but by the end of the first night he had the three in the palm of his hand. It was very impressive to watch. He’d raided the alcohol trolley and offered them warm beers as an ice-breaker, and then it was all male-bonding rituals from then on. They talked of sports, cars, all the typical guy things, and soon enough they were laughing uproariously and slapping each other on the back. 

She might have worried about it, about whether he was truly as trustworthy as she’d sensed him to be that morning, but when it came time to rest, and Brienne took up her watch in the same spot he’d sat in the previous night, he came and sat by her. At first they sat in silence, listening to the soft sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, and the cicadas in the trees behind. It was companionable, and peaceful, and she appreciated that he’d come to share this moment with her, even though he needed to rest.

Finally, he said softly, so that she could only just hear him above the waves. “Petyr doesn’t play golf.”

She frowned. “He told Sam and Gilly they’d been at the Mereen Pines all week.”

He didn’t reply, just closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, plainly exhausted.

_Lannister breathed in deeply, nostrils flaring. She’d angered him, not for the first time, by using the moniker he despised so fiercely. If he hadn’t been restrained he would have, without a doubt, tried to attack her. _

_It was funny that a man who so clearly delighted in provoking her, could not handle when he was provoked himself. He looked positively petulant. His chains clinked against the ceramic tiles of the bathroom. An edgy noise. Anxious._

_“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.” His voice was deadly and low, but she caught every word. She would be an idiot not to have noticed how dangerous he was._

_She tossed him a pillow and a blanket. He might have to sleep chained to the toilet--it was the only thing sturdy enough that he wouldn’t be able to tear from the wall to escape-- but that didn’t mean she was completely heartless. “Every murderer has their reasons. You’re not special. It’s not my job to be your therapist.” _

_He turned away, ignoring the offered comforts in favour of staring at the blank wall. Whatever. Their flight left the following morning, and she only had to put up with his moody tantrums for another twenty-four hours before she would be free of him and five thousand dragons richer._

_“Do you need anything else?” she asked. “I’ll bring you some food a little later.”_

_But he didn’t reply. Just stared at the wall. Silence._

_It was only when she closed the door, to give herself just an inkling of privacy, that she heard his response. “He deserved to die. I’d kill him again in a heartbeat.”_

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she said, watching his profile. 

“What?” He didn’t open his eyes, but she could tell he was still awake and listening.

“You don’t have to…” She paused, and searched around for the words to explain her worries. “Have you heard of sin eaters?”

Jaime shrugged.

“My father used to say that people like police, ER doctors, paramedics. They were sin eaters. Every day they bear witness to the worst of humanity: wife-beaters, child molesters. Drug deals gone wrong, murder, rape, you name it. And they soak it up and handle it so that it doesn’t pollute the rest of society… You don’t have to do that for us. Not here. No matter what they’ve done. It’s not worth the price, and we can protect those girls together without...”

But he’d sagged against her. There would be no convincing him now, he was too tired. He needed to rest. He was going on forty hours awake at this point. She’d be surprised if he even remembered this conversation in the morning.

She sighed. “All right. Let’s get you in with Podrick.”

He let her pull him up and was guided easily enough back to the makeshift shelter Walder had constructed for them all. Podrick was curled up in the same tight ball as he had been that morning, and nearby the sisters were wrapped around each other again, worn out from the day. She deposited Jaime between them, and he was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow. He looked younger in sleep, almost innocent with the weight off his shoulders. It might not be possible anymore, for her to deliver him to the authorities in King’s Landing, and for her to collect her dragons, but that didn’t stop her from feeling responsible for her charge.

He shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Samirant, Luthien and Nire for the beta, and to everyone who liked, reviewed, commented, reblogged the first chapter.
> 
> Let me know your crazy wild theories in the comments or come and yell at me on [tumblr](http://slipsthrufingers.tumblr.com). The best part about Lost was always the OMGWTFPOLARBEAR moments.


	3. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime finally get inside the fuselage and find some important things.

The next day she woke again with sunlight warming her face. Part way through the evening Sam had taken her place on watch and she’d been able to curl up besides Sansa and Arya and though she’d fallen asleep quickly, the light breaking across the beach seeped through her closed eyes and drew her from sleep far more efficiently than any alarm clock ever had.

But today she wasn’t alone. The girls rose when she did, roused by the dawning sun as well as her movements. They untangled themselves, but still sat close to each other, and alongside Brienne, and looked out across the pristine morning ocean. 

“Do you think anyone is looking for us?” Sansa asked softly, barely louder than the wind rustling the trees behind them.

Brienne turned away from the water, and noticed properly, how young her charges were. Throughout the day before, Sansa had played a part that Brienne was very familiar with: mature adult. She had spent the day with Margaery and Gilly and had preened and acted like the young woman she clearly aspired to be. But here, in their little shelter, with just her sister, she was free to be as scared as she needed. 

Arya seemed a bit more untouched by the trauma. She was covered in grime and soot, like Brienne, from having spent the previous day moving in and out of the fuselage, but now in her weariness, she too looked like the child she was. Eleven. Still only in the sixth grade, goalkeeper her school’s soccer team. Proud that she could climb trees and desperately, _desperately_ afraid. She hid it well, but she couldn’t hide it in her sleep, when she clung tightly to her sister, as though afraid that Sansa would be ripped away from her too.

A rush of something… some protective instinct filled her belly, clenched tightly around Brienne’s heart. “I hope so,” she said, honestly.

“I miss mum and dad,” Arya said into her kneecaps, leaning into her sister a little more. “And Jon. I wanted to see him so bad.”

“Robb and Bran and Rickon too.” Sansa sniffled.

The reached out for each other openly then, both crying. It made Brienne feel quite helpless. There was nothing she could do to help them, to ease their hurt. She could protect them, be the bigger body that they could hide behind, and if rescue finally came, she could hopefully be the one to return them to their family. But right now, faced with their hurt, she was powerless. She felt small.

For a time, they cried together, with Brienne sitting awkwardly beside them, wondering what she could possibly do to ease their worries, to make them feel more hopeful for something good to come. But minutes passed and nothing came to mind. No perfect epiphany occured. No sudden realisation. Nothing.

But it turned out not to matter.

Sansa pulled away first, nose dripping yet the indelicate face she made was playful. “You _stink_,” she said to her sister, laughter in her voice.

Arya sniffled too, and barked a laugh. “So do you.”

Brienne could help with that. She smiled, stood up, and held both her hands out to the girls. “Then let’s go wash up a bit.”

They walked down to the beach, further away from the wreckage and the rest of the camp until they were far enough away that Brienne felt they could strip down without any unwanted eyes. She tossed her ruined clothes onto the sand, and waded into the water in just her plain cotton underwear. The girls followed her lead, leaving their own smelly clothes in a pile beside hers, and within moments they were ducking beneath the incoming waves, frolicking about and splashing each other playfully.

Brienne let them have their fun. She was covered in all sorts of grime herself, and she wanted nothing more than to strip some of it away. The salt water stung her head-wound sharply, but it felt not dissimilar to the sting of antiseptic, so she breathed through it, and soon enough it faded as the water cooled her skin. She floated on the surface for a little while, letting the soft waves gently undulate beneath her as she stared at the blue sky and listened to the girls being girls beside her. It felt… healing.

After a little while, she stood once more, and got to the business of cleaning herself off properly. She ducked down beneath the surface to grab handfuls of sand from the bottom that she used to rub across her skin, exfoliating away the very worst mess of the last few days. 

Sansa spotted what she was doing, and began to copy her, and soon Arya was in on it too. They took turns massaging some sand into their hair and scalp, which felt wonderful, though it would never clean as well as a bottle of shampoo, and Sansa very gently bathed Brienne’s face, being careful not to press at the skin around her injury. She had to float so that the girl could reach her head, and Arya, wanting to help, kept her hands under the small of Brienne’s back to stop her from sinking down to the bottom. It was innocent and pure and she felt invigorated, ready to handle anything else the day would throw at them.

When her hands were well and truly wrinkled by the salt water, and her stomach was feeling very hollow, that she made the girls get out of the water. It was only then that she realised she hadn’t really thought this little excursion out very well. They hadn’t brought towels with them, or a change of clothes, and she didn’t much relish walking back up to the camp, in her now transparent underwear, salt water drying on her skin. She hadn’t felt self-conscious in the water, with just the girls there, but was not sure she had the confidence to stride into the camp, where anyone could see … _her_. And she certainly wouldn’t let the girls go in her place.

But when they reached the spot on the shore where they had left their clothes, there was a stack of towels there, neatly folded, alongside a change of clothes for each of them. 

One single set of footprints led there and back to the camp, but there was no way of knowing who it could have been. 

* * *

The refreshing start to the day seemed to presage a change in their luck. Things began to look up a bit as they cleared out the last of the under cabin when underneath a heavy crate, behind a heavy, waterlogged box that contained several hard-drives, Brienne wrapped her hands around something she’d been hoping to find.

An axe. It was strapped to the wall, probably the sort of thing they had in a plane ‘in case of emergencies’ and this was certainly one of them.

“Jaime!” she called over her shoulder. He came quickly, and when she held the axe up she warmed to see the same happy expression reflected in his green eyes.

They left the rest of their haul behind, looking for a spot that would work. Quickly enough they found a bulkhead that seemed like it would suit their purposes, and Jaime spread his hands out as far as the cuffs would allow, draping the chain over the metal.

Brienne adjusted her grip on the axe, suddenly nervous. If her aim wasn’t true then she could do a lot of damage, even cut off his hand. And perhaps they would still find the keys somewhere! Or some bolt cutters? Surely that would be safer.

He seemed to sense her anxiety. He sat up, locked eyes with her. “Brienne,” he said. “I trust you.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to...”

“I _trust_ you. Just do it.”

She paused a second longer, but he was resolved, and she was the one who had cuffed him in the first place. It was only right that she was the one who freed him.

Jaime resumed his position, arms outstretched across the bulkhead. “Should I count you down?” he asked, green eyes bright with reassurance.

Brienne nodded.

“Three.” She raised the axe

“Two.” She picked her target--the middle link in the chain.

“One.”

She brought the axe down hard. It cleaved the chain in two with a clang, and Jaime overbalanced backwards and stumbled into the row of chairs behind. He blinked, then grinned, then reached his arms out as wide as he possibly could, stretching his tight muscles with glee. His laughter was pure and joyful and infectious.

Brienne grinned back at him, relieved she had freed him without any further harm. She did not know what they would have done if she’d injured him--oh.

She froze, hands gripped the axe tighter.

He had ripped off his dirty flannel shirt, not paying any mind to the buttons that popped off in his excitement, and threw it over the bulkhead into the sloshing water below. His undershirt, no longer white and clean but yellow and smeared with any number of nasty things, quickly went the same way, exposing his tanned, hairy chest.

“I have been wearing those for _five days_!” he said in explanation, rubbing his exposed skin with his now freed hands, before he did another thing to shock her and took a running leap over the edge, plunging into the water after his clothes.

She followed until she reached the edge, peering after him. He was floating serenely next to the wing, his shirts drifting back and forth with the flow of the water. His face was turned in the direction of the sun like a flower.

“Felt a little dirty, did we?” she called out, unable to keep the laughter from her voice. His joy was infectious.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. “I was starting to think the only way I would get out of those clothes would be when they rotted off my body.”

“I’m sure we could’ve figured something out. Margaery could’ve sewn you something.” The woman had started to put her talents to work that morning, using fabric that she’d salvaged from several of the plane’s chairs to fashion together ‘curtains’ for their tents. Not to mention that they hadn’t recovered Sam’s luggage, which given his size meant that finding appropriate clothing was a bit of a challenge. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore.” He smiled brightly in the sunlight. “I’m free.”

He was. She’d freed him. The happiness she felt for him dimmed, somewhat, as reality reared its head. She was his captor, the one who was supposed to deliver him to the Kingsguard so he could answer for his crimes. She knew every single charge he faced, everything he was accused of. He was a dangerous man, and she had freed him. 

Had she made a mistake? Had the last four days been a way of luring her into lowering her guard? She had watched him manipulate the men the night before, to get into their circle of trust. But was she the _real_ target here? Surely it was not just a ploy to gain her trust so that he could escape her clutches later.

She mulled it over as she watched him relax in the cool water. He looked so carefree, spread-eagled and floating in the sun. Taking pleasure in the simple feeling of water on his skin.

_I trust you_, he’d said.

Could she?

* * *

The axe came in handy in another, important way. It meant that they could finally get into the cockpit.

The main entrance through the cabin was submerged in the water, but she and Jaime were able to swim around the outside of the fuselage to reach the nose. Brienne had the axe in one hand and when they swam close enough she wedged it into the metal just underneath the windscreen. They then were able to use it as an anchor to pull themselves up. She went up first, with Jaime doing his best to boost her, though it was a tricky thing to do while treading water. But she made it, then turned and helped him up after her. 

They turned together to look through the windscreen, but instead of looking into the cabin, they saw themselves reflected back instead. It was the first time Brienne had seen herself since the crash. As she’d suspected she was bruised; the right side of her face from her cheekbone to her hairline was a mess of black and blue, particularly underneath her eye where the blood had pooled, dark and miserable. The lump on her forehead didn’t look so bad, but the split skin was swollen and open. She brought a hand up to gently touch the edge of the discolouration, but Jaime snatched her hand before she could.

“Don’t… It’ll just hurt.” He shook his head. 

His reflection next to hers seemed like it was making fun of her. There she was in her scavenged shirt and shorts, which didn’t fit properly when they were dry, and only looked worse now that she was wet and bedraggled from their swim. Whereas he looked like an oiled Adonis. His muscles glistened in the sun and his pants hung low on his hip bones, dragged lower by the weight of the water, which exposed a tantalising ‘V’ of flesh she immediately looked away from. His hair was artfully slicked back from his face, and if it weren’t for the cuffs there wouldn’t be a single odd thing about him. 

He seemed to sense what she was thinking and said, “Believe it or not, you look much better than you did.”

“I don’t care how I look,” she said, shaking his hand off. She bent down and yanked the axe out of the hull.

Jaime bent down and cupped his hands to the glass to peer inside. He flinched back almost immediately.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Dead?”

“Oh yeah. Both of them very dead.”

She crinkled her nose. This was going to smell. She held out the axe. “You want to do the honours?”

He shook his head. “You smash, I’ll grab.”

It took several hard swings before she got through. The glass shattered on the first go, but was held in place by the tinting. It was easy to tell when she’d broken through though, because the stench almost immediately overwhelmed them. 

She immediately covered her mouth and nose.

Beside her, Jaime did the same, gagging but trying to push it back down.

The pilots were both still strapped into their chairs, but from the way they were bloated it was a bit difficult to see just what exactly had been their cause of death. Quite frankly Brienne didn’t want to look that closely. Did it really matter at this point? That would be for the air crash investigators to figure out, and if she ever wanted to meet one of them they would need to find the transceiver.

She stepped back carefully and took a deep breath of the fresher air away from the window before she leaned back down and hacked away at the rest of the window pane, knocking out the sharp edges so that Jaime would be able to get in and out without cutting himself up on the glass or stepping on the bodies.

When she was done she stepped back and Jaime took her place. She watched him steel himself, muscles tensing along his neck, before he lowered himself down into the cockpit.

“This is _the_ most disgusting thing I’ve ever done,” he called out, sounding truly wretched. He was pulling at panels and drawers, tugging out anything and everything that seemed useful. She wished she’d thought to have brought a bag along with them, so they could get things back to the beach safely, but there was nothing for it now. She wouldn’t leave Jaime alone down there just so that she could go back and get one.

She watched him search from as safe a distance as she could so that she didn’t have to breathe in any more of the putrefaction than she had to. 

Thankfully he worked quickly, and she heard him make a triumphant noise and he raised a pouch that looked a bit like a jellyfish high above his head. Inside it was what looked like a cross between a walkie-talkie and a satellite phone. 

“Got it!” he cried, using the attached strap to hang it around his neck. “Now get me out of here.”

She buried the axe back in the hull and reached down to grasp his wrists in a monkey grip. She levered him up and he used his feet to find purchase on whatever he could and soon enough he was standing next to her again looking far more pale and green than he had before he’d gone in.

“Does it work?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

Jaime lifted the see-through pouch to check, pressing the buttons through the plastic. There was a red button on the side which he held down until the screen lit up.

“It works!” he cried, and she let out her own cheer of excitement, and they wrapped their arms around each other tightly, not knowing who had reached for whom first.

“It works!” 

But they were both still wet, and the nose of the plane was not the most sturdy of surfaces. Before they could do anything to prevent it they’d overbalanced, toppling into the clear water below.

Brienne burst to the surface first, heart in her throat. _The transceiver!_

Jaime emerged just after her, holding the pouch aloft above the water. “It’s waterproof!” he said, breathlessly. “It’s fine!”

The laugh burst from her, buoyant and ecstatic and contagious, as Jaime began to laugh too. 

They shared the moment, pure and light and _theirs_, before she pushed herself up out of the water high enough to retrieve the axe from where it was imbedded in the plane’s nose.

_We’re saved._

Together they swam back to shore.

* * *

However their excitement at retrieving the transceiver was short lived. It survived the swim back to shore in the water-proof pouch, and by mutual agreement they decided it would be best to wait until they were with the entire group before they broadcast their mayday to whoever would hear it. They deserved to hear it all together.

They ran up the beach to the camp, Jaime carrying the transceiver and Brienne the axe. The others saw their frantic approach and when they realised just what it was that Jaime was carrying, they too became excited. Jaime opened the waterproof case, and impatiently tugged the transceiver out, but when they switched it on the screen lit up, but that’s all it did. It was like it had stalled.

“Try changing the frequency,” Meryn suggested, moving to take it from Jaime, but he moved it out of reach and shot a truly withering glare at the other man. A typical male power-struggle. If Brienne had a dollar for every unnecessary display of testosterone she’d had to bear witness to in her life...

“I have.” Jaime flipped the thing in his hands, searching for a crack in the plastic, damage that might explain why it wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do.

“Did you drop the damn thing in your excitement?” Olenna asked. “I see you have your cuffs off now. You should’ve left him in his chains, girl. All men are best when they know their place.”

Jaime didn’t pay her any mind, focussed on the transceiver. “I didn’t.”

It was then that Brienne realised that Podrick had sidled up beside her. It was the first true sign of interest he’d shown in anything since the crash. She didn’t blame him; the thought that they would be rescued soon was tantalising and it felt so very, very close. But he didn’t just look interested. There was recognition there, and his nose twitched ever so slightly towards it. 

“Have you used one of those before?” she asked him, calm and low, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up at her nervously, then spoke for the first time, barely louder than a whisper. “Yes.. I-I was in my s-school’s AV c-club.”

“Can you make it work?” Jaime asked, then thrust it the boy’s way. Behind him, Meryn looked like he’d sucked a lemon.

Pod took it carefully, and checked the bottom. From her position next to him, Brienne saw what he’d found immediately. A little reset hole, the type that you used a paperclip to press.

“H-have you got a n-needle?” he asked Margaery, blush colouring his cheeks. She was standing to the side, supporting her grandmother. She nodded and Loras immediately took her place so that she could go fetch the sewing kit she’d been using.

She returned soon enough with the requested needle, and Pod carefully poked it into the hole. Then he tried turning the transceiver on again. Sansa leaned across Jaime in her eagerness, Arya bouncing at her side. This time when the screen lit up green, Brienne could see from her spot beside him the full bar of battery and the signal strength. Gods, it was _strong_. The receiver itself now buzzed with white-noise. It might be between channels, but it was _working_.

Pod smiled, a truly delightful thing, then began fidgeting with the dials, trying to tune it so it would work. The static faded and at once a man’s voice came through the thing, crystal clear as the blue sky above, “--can hear this message now. It has taken you long enough to get inside the cockpit. Perhaps if you worked quicker you’d be able to prevent what’s coming. You could’ve called for help, rescue teams would be arriving on the beach. But it’s too late for that now. We’re coming. The Stark girls will be ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😈😘


End file.
